After losing my memory, I divorced Don

I woke up to find that I had lost five years of my memory.

I was told that I had been married to Caspian, the ruthless Godfather of the New York Mafia, for five years.

I had harbored a crush on him for a long time, so marrying him should have been good news.

But the terrible truth was, he didn't seem to love me.

After losing my five years of memory, he felt like nothing more than a stranger to me.

"Break the blood oath, Caspian," I said. "We're getting a divorce."

Yet later, he would pace outside my door late at night, refusing to leave: "Darling, just look at me one more time, please?"

Chapter 1

I woke up with the harsh, stinging scent of bleach filling the air.

My wrists felt as if they were weighed down by heavy lead, each pulse throbbing heavily against the gaps in my memory.

I kept my breathing shallow and even, straining my ears to listen carefully.

A voice came from a man standing a few feet away from the bed, speaking into a burner phone.

"Tell the Boss his wife's suicide attempt is just a stunt. Yeah, the shallow kind. She just wants to get his attention again. Tell him not to waste his time coming down here."

I fluttered my eyelids open and turned my head against the pillow.

A man was standing near the doorway.

I didn't know his name, but the heavy pistol resting in the holster beneath his jacket made it crystal clear what kind of life I was living now.

He noticed me looking at him, and a sneer of contempt curled the corner of his lips.

"You can drop the act, Sienna. The Don isn't coming."

I met his gaze, my mind a chaotic swirl of fragmented images tumbling over one another.

"...Who is the Don?"

Marco let out a harsh scoff that bounced off the cold surfaces of the room.

"Amnesia now? After five years of begging the Don to love you, this is your new trick?"

Five years.

The words hit my chest like a heavy blow, stealing the breath from my lungs.

"Five years? But I'm only twenty," I said, my voice hoarse and dry, struggling to process his unbelievable words.

The man took a step closer: "Stop faking it. You're twenty-seven. You've been married to Caspian for five years. For five years, you've disgraced the entire Mafia with your pathetic jealousy over Elena."

Caspian?

The name sent a jolt of adrenaline through my veins.

He was my former crush, the brooding, quiet boy I used to watch from afar.

According to the man standing before me, Caspian was now a New York mob boss, the ruthless head of a crime syndicate whose name was synonymous with terror.

And I was his pathetic, submissive wife.

The rough weave of the pillowcase rubbed against my back. Gritting my teeth against the tearing pain in my bandaged arms, I pushed myself up inch by inch.

I looked down at my hands, staring at the dazzling diamond ring on my finger.

A strong wave of revulsion surged within me, leaving me utterly disgusted by the kind of woman I seemed to have become.

"Get me out of this room!" I commanded.

Marco raised an eyebrow, a flash of surprise crossing his face as if caught off guard by the cold edge in my tone, but he gestured to the guards outside anyway.

They escorted me out of the underground clinic and into a private elevator that went straight up to a penthouse. As the floor numbers climbed, I felt increasingly hollowed out inside.

Pushing the doors open, I was greeted by a living space crafted from cold marble and dark leather.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Caspian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his silhouette striking against the backdrop of the glittering city lights.

He was taller than I remembered, his shoulders broader, his presence an oppressive, lethal weight in the air.

He wore a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the dark syndicate tattoos snaking across his veiny forearms.

He turned around to face me.

His eyes were pitch black, completely devoid of any warmth.

"What new game are you playing this time, Sienna?" His voice was low and dangerous, vibrating like a tremor against glass.

I looked at this man who ruled the criminal underworld, a man who allegedly watched me beg for his affection for five years, and felt nothing but the fear one would have when facing a total stranger.

"I won't cause any more trouble."

Caspian closed the distance between us in three long strides.

He towered over me, the muscles in his cheeks prominent, a hard ridge beneath his skin pulling his jawline as taut as a bowstring.

Instead of looking relieved, his face darkened with a fierce intensity.

He leaned down, his face mere inches from mine, the air around him smelling of cologne and the faint, acrid scent of gunpowder.

"This is an order from the Godfather. You are not to touch Elena ever again. There is nothing but innocence between her and me, do you understand?"

I stared into his ice-cold eyes and felt the last remaining spark of my teenage infatuation turn to ashes.

He turned, unfastening his cufflinks, and walked toward the master bathroom to wash up.

When he came out, he walked straight to the edge of the massive bed, sat down, and looked at me.

"Come here." It was an order.

I took a step back, my body involuntarily shrinking away, because his gaze felt like a man inspecting an object he owned—as if he could snuff the life out of this object at any moment.

"Why are you so cold to me?" The question slipped out; I hadn't planned on saying it.

Caspian let out a heavy sigh, took a step forward, and reached out to grab me.

"You brought this entirely upon yourself."

His massive hand clamped down on my arm, pulling me toward him.

His fingers brushed against the thick gauze wrapped around my wrists, pressing into the exposed, stitched flesh underneath.

His outstretched hand froze.

It seemed the rough texture of the bandages had ruined his mood.

He turned his back to me.

"Never threaten me with a fake suicide attempt ever again," he said, his tone freezing.